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I'm going to be 27 in the year 2001, on the 4th of January. Please feel free to select a present from the following list and send it to me. SWANNEE WHISTLE [how to use the swannee whistle] I really, really want a swannee whistle, so that I can accompany everyday actions with amusing effects. For trousers falling down, a rapid descending whistle would be appropriate. And to let observers know that someone is getting an erection, even when you can only see their face, I would slowly and suggestively rise the swannee whistle. If the arousal spreads to near hysteria, say, to the point where their eyes are rolling around in the sockets, I would play a rapid up-and-down whistle. Anyone getting this aroused, however, is likely to faint. The Swannee Whistle replaces the "parp-parp" horn that I now own. You can listen to my spanky parp-parp horn here. So no parp-parps, as I've got my fair share of them. Incidentally, "parp" is the more vicious, and viscous form of the "pern", two of the classic farts. VIOLENT TRIBUTE TO PETER COOK There is a throwaway line in a Derek & Clive sketch, where Peter talks about entering Dolly, his wife, for a gameshow called "Blow Your Tits Up". A fitting tribute to Peter Cook, who died six years ago, would be a flash realisation of this game. It seems quite simple - throwing bombs at progressively thinner women. Some of you must be able to do this, surely? This isn't simple misogyny, these women deserve to have their tits blown off. Dawn French, for endorsing the Vicar Of Dibley. Carol Vorderman, for compromising the peerless integrity of Countdown with her TV slaggery. Jennifer Aniston, simply to test Brad Pitt's depth of love - would he go out with a titless lady? TWISTED BABY-ANIMAL ABORTIONS
| You may have seen the full horror of the Tiger-Baby abortion. There are also seasonal abortions. For instance, this is the Easter Bunny-Baby abortion. This time, I even managed to get the cashier in the shop to admit that it was a scandalous aberration. She seemed particularly revolted by the tight curls of ginger hair, which do, in fact, deserve a close-up. These creatures, as sickening as they are, must be rounded up by myself so that I can destroy them in as humane a way as possible.
Pictured right is the fringe. If you tug at it, some of the hairs come out - you can then put them in your mouth and pretend you've been gobbling Chris Evans. |
RARE POKEMON I wasted my Master ball on an Articuno. Now I'll never catch Mewtwo! This comes back to haunt me every day. When people see me crying, they are often sympathetic, until I tell them why. Then, they say "You stupid bastard! You were warned that there was only one Master Ball in the game - how could you waste it on a smelly Articuno?" Then they leave me alone. This is the lowest point in my life. I hate everything. If anyone wants to give me all their Pokémon (I want Jigglypuff too, although I'm aware it may not be as cute as it is on the cartoon) then we can meet on a bridge, swap Pokémon, and perhaps have sex afterwards, if you don't look funny. However, don't send me any of these things unless you want me to glower sternly at you. Here is my "shit list", a rather phrase which I stole from those magnificent Riot Grrrls of L7. THAT'S LIFE ANNUAL I picked up a That's Life Annual in a church sale in Devon. It's rubbish. So no more of those, please - unless they've got a picture of that brilliant taxidermy episode. In this episode, Esther Rantzen exposed a taxidermist who simply wasn't very good; some old lady had sent her cat to him, and it had been returned some time later with hair missing, its eyes pointing every which way but loose, and a malevolant grin across its head. Even Esther laughed at the abomination on her desk, despite the anguish of the old lady; a picture of that would be cool.
| This is what humour was in the 1970s. Someone put a mushroom in this woman's telephone receiver. As if she hasn't got enough on her plate.
FINAL FANTASY IX No. The sense of loss and self-hate after playing these games is crippling. Running around, reading uninspired dialogue between moody cliché characters, then spending two hours looking for a door until you realised you didn't press the X button in the right place, eventually spending another 12 pounds on a walkthrough guide, and getting no satisfaction at all from the game because you're simply following the walkthrough word by word, the only reason to play the game from that point onwards being to see the cut-scenes which are frankly not a patch on TV. Final Fantasy appeals to the terrible role-playing wanker within me, who gets a bit excited when he sees "Level Up!" appear after a battle. "Oo! Oo! Have my stats gone up a bit, creating an imperceptible change in future battles?" Pokémon is different though, although my justification for this is unclear. Perhaps because I can do a good Bulbasaur and Paras impression, and Brock is such a spunk.